On the day that you finish your poetry blog
Nothing appears to have changed.
Sunlight still crosses the carpark; other cars move down the lane,
And the poems which had been coming, seem to be coming again.



The ‘Four Line Blog‘ project is now at an end. Having written 501 entries, the author feels that to continue would only lead to a depreciation in quality. Thank you, readers, for reading; your comments and feedback have enlivened the writing process immensely.

The author is now seeking representation, publication and illustration of the poems contained in this blog. Any interest to this effect should be addressed to the author at james-b-harris(at)hotmail.com. The poems will remain online for the forseeable future.



One day I will get married, on a cold December day,
The ladies will sigh deeply and the pages say
‘What a cunt – what a cunt –
What a cunt is gone away.’

The Last Day


At the moment of judgement all debts are off;
I help a woman cross over a threshold, gently
She holds my hand. We cross together, men and women
Humans united now to face the balance sheet.


Toad and I are returning. All afternoon, trains
Have powered on from here to everywhere.
‘Toad, I am in a quandary,’ I announce, and
The toad shakily ribbits, as if I wasn’t there.


Toad and I on the beach; he hasn’t said anything all day;
Nor have I really. Finally ‘want some chips?’ I ask.
The toad regards me with his dead eye, treading the sand.
Beyond us waves toss in the misty afternoon.


In North Germany with the giant toad. His lips flare,
As if demanding I remove my hat for him, which I duly do.
He wriggles in his seat. On all these journeys, all
These expeditions, the giant toad is always there.

On schedule


At work, I take a break to dance.
The toilet is the best place; bending my body round the throne
I can just about manage to cut a move. Life celebrated,
I wash my hands quietly and soberly resume.

The Beginning


It was the earliest days of the year, and
The fireworks lay in the gutter. All had emerged
Enriched from our great celebration; the ice lay melting.
It was a damn good thing to be alive.

Sir, you wished to speak -? Yes.
I wanted to say that some participants have complained
About their careers and their love. Just bear in mind this is still more
Difficult for a cactus, prickly and waterlogged.